


The Boy Who Can't Stop Laughing

by Mickey_Milkovich_Sass



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Character Study, Explicit Language, F/M, Friendship, Inside Jerome's mind, Jerome daydreaming, Sexual Tension, Subtle Romance, accidental angst, but like scary laughter, intentions of sex, lots of laughter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-19
Updated: 2017-02-27
Packaged: 2018-09-18 12:21:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9384833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mickey_Milkovich_Sass/pseuds/Mickey_Milkovich_Sass
Summary: Babara is lying in bed one night thinking about her childhood and Jerome can't stop laughing from downstairs. Barbara goes down to see what the boy is finding so funny. Although she instantly drops her hostile motives when she finds what she least expects.Okay, so this is more of a subtle reference to a Barbara/Jerome romance. There are clear sexual undertones; however, I more just wanted to create an interesting interaction between them which explored their different characters.





	1. A Conventional Cog

Everything about this room made me sick; the silk sheets that I had kicked down to the end of my bed; the pale golden tones that seemed to be decorating every inch of the room; the fact that there wasn’t even a touch of character anywhere that I could see. It was like being a kid again. Everything had to be done right and plain, it was only proper. My parents didn’t like mess or vibrancy or any evidence that anyone other than a ghost had been living there.

When I was six to my parent’s distaste, my Aunty Sarah bought me a dollhouse. My parents after a long argument with each other decided that it may be good to let me keep the dollhouse. They thought it’ll help me in the future when I become my future husband's domestic little pet. I used to play with that dollhouse all the time. I liked to pretend I was the daughter doll and that I lived with the other dolls in the family. I played out the exact same happy family day on repeat. I pretended it was my birthday and every day the mummy doll would get me one of the dresses from the little wardrobe in the parents’ bedroom. It always put a smile on my face. Then the whole family would go into the little dining room and sing Happy Birthday for me. Then we would all laugh together and pretend to eat the little round rubber I used as the cake.

A year later on my actual birthday, I came home from school to find my dollhouse was gone and my gift sat waiting on my bed. It was in a champagne coloured gift bag, that was left open at the top. I reached into the bag to pull out a cream planner. I stared at it in bewilderment. Something about it I recognized. I stared at it for at least half an hour thinking until I remembered what had happened a week before when my mother had to bring me along shopping with her friends because the babysitter had cancelled. None of the women really paid much attention to me, I just followed on from behind. Doing a little jog every time my mother angrily called out my name. As we were looking through a bookshop, I stood in the children’s area immersed in Roald Dahl’s “Esio Trot”, I knew that she would never let me bring it home with me so I was trying to read through it as quickly as possible. My mother called for me and being the obedient puppy I was I followed. Waiting next to her at the register I saw her buy a number of books, all of which were about scandalous love affairs and romantic Frenchmen. Tossed onto the pile was this planner. She didn’t care that I was there. It was as though I was just a ghost concealed behind the obnoxious laughter between her and her friends. I remember thinking to myself how boring it looked like it should only be held in the hands of a middle-aged woman.

Later on through the years, thinking back on that birthday I always said to myself what a beautiful gift that was and how I was such a brat for getting so upset. However, as I laid still among that plain satin field I began to think more truthful than I had in a long time.

No little girl wants a planner for her birthday. What would I have planned? Playdates? Oh, there was nothing like that for little seven-year-old me. As if any of the other girls to want to hang out with me. I was just too boring for them all: too quiet. too depressing.

On the wall of the room, there was a painting of a blurred British landscape the sky consumed most the canvas. I’ve seen at least a million paintings just like that. The same blue sky. The same yellowy green grass. The only difference is the placement of the trees and clouds. That’s all.

I used to want to be an artist when I was little. A dream which was melted as soon as I shared my ambition with my father. As soon as I showed him my masterpiece that I had spent all day working on, the vision was snatched from me. Any mention of my art then on was met with a frown followed by the word tomfoolery. Soon the whole thought was gone completely. I don’t remember what I painted. Was it a cat? It was probably a cat. I’ve always really liked cats.

I imagine it to not have been father’s taste. Not enough blurry clouds or maybe he just couldn’t stand any form of art that involved life.

As soon as I started out my teenager days, my parents decided that it was for the best to grate away any of my soul that still remained. I started hanging up posters. No bands, I never liked specific artists. Just of movies, I liked: West Side Story, Vertigo, Psycho… I was a great fan of Hitchcock. Still am. Kubrick too. Amazing directors. Their movies were what redeemed my fascination of art. It made me want to be a director for a little while. As if that would ever happen. But when you’re at that age, you don’t think of realism. It took me months to get all my room covered. It all cost a fuck ton but I knew it’ll be worth it. When it was all done, I felt relief. I felt greatness. Like I finally had character. Every room should have the traits of the beholder. Otherwise, it might as well just be a spare. For the next couple days, all I did was stare at my posters examining every detail of them. I was unbelievably mesmerised by them all. However, my unfortunate shadow caught up with me like it always does.

As I stood entranced by the fire escape in my poster for Hitchcock’s Rear Window, a loud scream flooded through the house. For the first time in years, my mother came into my room. I jolted around to see the shock on her face. She looked as though she had come up to see my body hanging from a pike.

My father came to her rescue and maids flooded in and tore away all of my chance my beautiful work. Everything in that room that said something other than fifty-year-old housewife was now gone. Not even a staple was left.

The grimace on my parents faces for next couple months shrunk me back from my glory. My director dream streamed through my fingers just as my painting one had. I was left with nothing. Falling into my parent's plan and I watched passively as I was led to being just another conventional cog spinning around and around with nothing to stop me. I was gone.

Not anymore.

Immediately, jumping off the bed I let out a monstrous growl. Ripping the painting of the wall with both hands, my insides burned at the sight of its painful bore of an image. I plunged my knee through the canvas skin. The jaw clenched look of anger on my face was enough to make any man run far away. I began repeatedly bashing the landscape into the end of my bed.

Holding it in front of me, I peeled way all the loose skin until the image was without a trace. And all I held was the dark brown frame. Looking through it I could see the dried paint and ripped canvas pieces that floated down to my bare feet. I wanted to get rid of it all. Demolish it. Destroy everything that remained.

I ran up to the window of my room and desperately tried to unlock it but of course, Theo had to make sure I had as little freedom as possible. Releasing a loud groan from the back of my throat, I banged my fist on the glass. Rain viciously attacked from the other side.

The thick droplets ran down the window blurring my view of the city into only darkness and red and white lights. Despite the distortion, I knew exactly where I was. A map of Gotham had been painted in my mind since the day I arrived here. We were in the centre of the city. The buildings’ mutilated silhouette may not have been clear but I knew the city too well for any doubt. The blurred edges faded into the arms of its leering background as they both slowly removed from existence. Yet with very careful eyes one could see how that sky of total blackness still left a hint of purple. Deep and camouflaging as it may have been, I knew.

A small little black paintbrush flick in the window that sat far away in the distance. It was barely apparent. It looked similar to a small bug that had been smudged on the other side of this glass. I couldn’t stand it gawking at me. I knew just the man who lives there. I knew exactly what he was doing. Leaning back in his chair whilst downing another vodka. Trying to seem interested in his smart, tall doctor girlfriend told him how he needs to take it easy in life and telling him what a hero he is. Gotham doesn’t have heroes. Nowhere does.

Everyone wants something: fame, sex, money. Same with Jim. All he desires is to prove to everyone what a good person he is.

Jimmy baby you have been playing hide and seek for way too long. I will find you and everyone will see you’re no different from whom you pretend to be repulsed by. Monsters Jim. I’m one. You’re one. Every man and woman in this city is one. You’re sick James Gordon. I can see it in you. I know you only do right from wrong because it’s what you’re told. Not what you believe.

A loud recognisable cackle arose from downstairs. The same juvenile cackle I’ve been hearing for the last week now. Will he ever just shut the fuck up. If Theo had let me just kill that ginger freak, all of us would be a whole lot happier. Every time I discuss it with him, he says, “The boy has charm. Enthusiasm. He’ll grow on you, Barbra. I assure it.”

As if anyone could find an overly caffeinated nerd charming.

Another laugh approached. Reminded me of some gorilla mating call you’d hear in a nature documentary.

I couldn’t stand that kid any longer. No one could. His boyish looks will one day come crashing down on him. You’ll see. Everything about him made me so angry. The way he masks his prepubescent voice with deep, throat-soaring growls; the way he laughs hysterically to himself after a prolonged of silence, amused by his sick thoughts; his cartoon of a smile that stretched further and further across his face each time I saw him.

Probably a virgin I imagine. Possibly not. Something tells me that if he had any experience it was most definitely a one-sided subscription. Who knows? Maybe in wrong. Maybe there was some benevolent teenage girl from whatever sick upbringing that created him who let him have a feel of her tits. Or an unprofessional therapist allured by his childish charisma. I could never see it myself. I like my men stern. That little brat was the complete opposite of what I wanted in my man.

I thought of how Jim would look into the mirror when he shaved. Face like a soldier as he took precise sweeps from each cheek. He wouldn’t look at me as I talked to him about what I was planning to do today. His cold blue eyes would remain still as the fixated on how each formal stroke was carried out.

Another cackle flooded into my room. This time it was giddier like a little child. Why doesn’t that little shit ever sleep? Despite being awake for weeks he is always in a never ending state of exaltation. What’s his secret? Drugs? Incredible high dosages of caffeine? Maybe that’s just how he’s made. I pictured a glimpse inside his mind. Bright pungent colours drenching every inch of his little world. Eccentric carnival music playing all day long, chords tangled around one another making the ghastliest sound, as the waves of music changed drastically from high too low. Every sick or depressing element of the real world dressed in pink bows being thrown onto another exciting roller-coaster. It was never ending.

He was mad.

He was senseless.

He was exciting.

Nothing like Jim. Always Mr. Fucking Vanilla. At first, I found his unyielding nature thrilling. To me, he was the epitome of masculinity. Decisive. Firm. Well, not always incredibly firm but bless the man, he’s getting old. Unlike Jerome. Being the manic teen he is, he’d probably have his tiny freckled cock turn hard by a shirtless old lady in a wheelchair. Horny little shit.

How old even was he? Nineteen? Eighteen? He was a man (or boy) of mystery.

I knew all the others. Arnold Tomkins has voices in his head that apparently told him to poison all the women that came to his pharmacy and then proceed to rape them. Greenwood ate a dozen women which explains his thick stature. And Helzinger, my stupid little giant. Killed his entire family using only his strength. I find that he often comes in handy.

But Jerome? I didn’t know anything about him. What could such a young kid do to wind up somewhere like Arkham? I imagined a necromantic or something else creepy and perverted.

I bet it was sick. A sudden thrill overtook me as I imagined all the gruesome things he could have done. I’d really gotten a taste for gore recently.

I needed to know. What was it about the teen? He was so entrancing. So charming. Why was it that I always listen with the highest intensity each time he speaks? And sometimes try myself to copy his exhilarated mannerism. I wanted to be like him. to be able to get away with anything. I always watched him with my complete attention as he floated around the dinner table speaking of the most beautifully distasteful things imaginable. I never knew what he about to do next. The boy was so impulsive. Relying on surprise. He would make me shiver in my seat as he spoke. He was like a serpent curled around me. Holding me tight in his scaly grip.

Turning towards a full-length mirror, looked at my shadowy reflection in the darkness. A helpful bolt of light tore through the night sky. Running my hands down my curves, I admired how the soft silk material of my nighty felt like nothing upon my skin. The deep purple looked gorgeous among my big blue pupils. Theo really knew what to pick out for a girl, I just loved the way it hugged around my waist. I hadn’t felt this stunning since my first night with Jim.

Sneering at my complexion that softly glowed in the city lighting that trailed into my room, I narrowed my eyes ever so slightly letting their sultry black lining become clear as the contrasted with my pale eyes.

Quietly, I whispered to myself, “Maybe I should pay the redhead a little visit.” Licking my lips, I added, “ask him what’s so funny.”

Another hysterical chuckle drenched the entirety of the apartment.

I winked to myself, the boy won’t know what hit him.


	2. I Go Looney

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this took so long, but I have been busier than I have ever been in my life. I hope no one is too pissed with me. 
> 
> I loved the feedback last time from you guys. Please leave a comment for this chapter telling me your thoughts. I know it's a little rushed, but I couldn't leave you guys in suspense any longer.

Not a sound as I padded barefoot over the marble floor. People often assume I have a foot fetish. Well, kind off. But that not part of it. I just loathe socks. The inside trimming would always irritate my toes. I found it so frustrating. My mother would always say it was appalling and send me away to fetch some slippers. They didn’t want their only daughter to end up a hippie, now did they.  
  
A wicked, “Ha!” threatened me from down stairs. Fucking hell! Was he torturing someone in there? Did he just find the midnight channels extremely amusing? Stop thinking about him. All he wants is fucking attention. He was probably just waiting for one of us to come down and beat the living shit out of him. _Maybe that what I should do,_ I thought. He seems like the type of guy who’d find pleasure in pain. I bet he jerks off with a knife. Probably holding drawings of women with guns in their mouths. God! Why does he have to be so fucking creepy? The way he stares at everyone; you can’t tell if he wants to kill you or fuck you. I’m going to assume both, but the order in which he does it can remain a mystery. I quickly stop. Why am I doing this? If I’m that horny I could always wake up Tabitha or Theo. I silently laugh to myself. Why out of all the people here did I think that ginger was the best option? Surely, even Greenwood would be better than that freak.  
  
I walk over to Tabitha’s door and open it slightly letting a strip of light expose a glimpse of her beautiful body. She lay light upon her sheets, so delicate in the way she barely sank into her mattress. It was extraordinary seeing her like this. Like a sweet angel. No one would tell a violent psychopath nestled in her sleeping form. She was so perfect, dressed in a short slip dress. Black like always. Her makeup was still done like a model in a magazine. She’d been waiting for me. Of course, she was.  
  
Sighing, I leant on the door frame. Maybe I could wake her by kissing those perfectly tanned legs up to her pussy. That would be a delicious surprise for her. I stood there thinking of all the wicked things I could do to her. I’ve been daydreaming of that body the moment she snatched me from Arkham. It would be fun to tie her up. Beds have frames for reasons right.  
  
However, as I stood there. Eyes mesmerised by her moisturised complexion I realised something. I felt nothing. No subtle tingling. No impulsiveness. Just staring at a body on a bed. This was odd. Before, anytime Tabby would walk into the room all I wanted to do was grab her hair and then finger fuck her until she screamed. But now even I I thought of the hottest shit possible it gave me nothing.  
  
Have you ever been to a circus? I have. When I was eleven. It was winter and Haly’s Circus came to the city. As it does every winter. I was with a group of other girls and one of their mums’. None of them wanted me there of course, but the lady took pity on me. She’d met my mother on a parent’s evening and her weak human conscience just could not resist but help the innocent little girl.  
  
It was fun there, except for the fact that every time I said something the girls would snigger and look awkwardly at one another. I liked the show, though. The clowns were creepy, but the acrobats were pretty awesome. After we went to see some side shows. There was one where a lady juggled torches, and her assistant kept throwing her more and more. She ended the show by putting one of the torches drown her throat and then breathing out flames like a dragon.  
  
Afterwards, we went to see Lila the snake dancer. We walked into a little red side tent and a young lady in her twenties stood upon a worn looking stage. She had tattoos running up both her arms and legs, which she showed by wearing an emerald green bikini. Along her shoulders slithered a thick Burmese Python. It was kind of beautiful. Pale with yellow patches and blood red eyes. It curled around her arms and neck staining her tallow complexion with dark scarlet marks. As she slowly lowered to her knees, she sunk her green eyes into the heart of every man in that room. All clones of one another; licking lips, entranced eyes, hands in their front pockets. Disappearing from my view behind the many grey haired men, she slowly lowered herself onto knees. Uselessly I tried to go on my tip toes to see what the strange lady was to do next. Suddenly, the mother’s hand grabbed my arm and I drove out from the tent. She seemed unable to stop shaking her head and repeating variations of “What sort of vulgar garbage was that? Absolutely tasteless!” Evidently, she was unimpressed with the lady’s feat. I rather enjoyed it. She just seemed so… How do I put it? Sultry. Fearless. Dominant.  
  
A surprisingly fabulous role model.  
  
I wanted to be like her. On that stage, making men who think themselves all-powerful find that they have influence than a tiny bird. I know that I couldn’t get that with Tabby. I can make her a slave but never submit. I still wanted her, but not tonight. Tonight I needed a little more fun. I wanted the break something.  
  
Theo? No too experienced. I can just imagine his mocking smirk, as I tried to make him beg for mercy. I guess I could get him crawling for me eventually, but I haven’t the time for that. Quick and speedy. No faff.  
  
But Jerome. The boy is perfect. I can just imagine that psychotic smile fade from that pubescent face as I pull his hair back. Confused yet enticed. That little virgin must be dying for a woman to let him touch her. I can’t stop but think how repulsive his cell must have smelled with all those teenage boy hormones whizzing around his sick little mind. Fuck it would be so good to fuck a man with that much desire.  
  
Well, it’s why I was out there, wasn’t it? To fuck the psycho. What was wrong with me? The snake woman wouldn’t hesitate. She’d get what she wanted. That’s what I needed to do. Another laugh broke through the corridor making me rub my thighs together. I continued down the hall. Humming slightly, I cracked my neck from side-to-side. If he’s not going to shut up by himself then I could always do it for him.  
  
After tripping my way down the pitch black staircase, I padded slowly towards the soft yellow glow filling the open door frame of Theo’s study. I could feel my heart pounding as I slowly let the room emerge before me. As soon as I caught a glimpse of red hair, my whole body immediately tensed. There he was sitting in the head chair. He’d turned from the desk to gaze dramatically into Theo’s marble fireplace where golden flames wildly danced. As soon as I realised he was facing away from me, I moved closer to examine to boy properly. The golden glare of the fire lit up his small ears and the top of his head. Ironically enough it gave him a kind of halo effect. The only other thing I could see of the boy was his pale hand clutching a glass of red wine.  
  
When I noticed his fluffy red sleeve it made me roll my eyes. I hated that dressing gown almost as much as I hated him. He’s been wearing that thing since he forced Theo to buy one for him. His exact quote: “I want one of those cool red dressing gowns to make me look like I’m in the Godfather. Don’t you roll your eyes at me! Dressing gown or I walk.”  
  
Theo only goes along with that brat because he likes his laugh. I can just imagine him before all this. Getting every single thing he asked for. Apple of his mother’s eye. Not anymore sweetheart.  
  
I took a step into the room. It was completely silent except the silent cracking of the flames. It was weird. I kind of expected him to say something dark and assertive. Like in a movie when the bad guy knows who’s in the room without having to look.  
  
Well, how about that. I guess he really is a human. I stretched my arms to either side and made a loud cartoonish yawn. Still not a word.  
  
Stepping closer, I decided to maybe make it a little easier for him. I placed my hands on my hips. “What time do you call this? Don’t you have school tomorrow young man?” Silence. Is he asleep? I thought. Sure, I guess he just laughs hysterically in his sleep and also drinks red wine.  
  
Curiously tilting my head to the side, I curved around the table and continued my little joke. “You know you really shouldn’t be up this late. A growing boy like you needs his—”  
  
The painful wideness of his smile stretched unrealistically up to his ears; the way the pretty green of his eyes bowed in shame to his hollow black pupils; his skin was like plastic it was so stretched and fake seeming. I mean this was his usual look. But it was different this time. Most of the time it was just that theatrical expression of an extremely aroused teenage boy, but now it was twisted into utter nightmarish madness.  
  
He wasn’t here. I could see that. He was lost in his own twisted fantasies. Just as I had described earlier. Just an unruly tangle of vibrant hysteria. He was the epitome of why joy is the separate most terrifying thing on this planet.  
  
My heart played faster and faster. I hated myself. What was happening? This wasn’t who I was. I never got scared. Out of all the people in Gotham I was the only one who would not even wince at a bullet. Well, at least I thought I was. For now, my body was anything but who I was.  
  
After taking in a deep breath and holding back my fear, I took a careful step closer to the boy. “ _Jerome_ ,” I mimicked in a motherly tone. Nervously chewing my bottom lip, I stood right in front of his chair. Even now I completely blocked his view, he continued to stare into nothingness. I hated his smile from this angle, it was even creepier if that’s even possible. The way his small freckled nose was able to hang over his insanely huge grin seemed ridiculous to me. It certainly wasn’t pretty to look at, but I didn’t want Jerome because of him being pretty. I wanted him mad. Otherwise, what’s the point of fucking a psychopath except for a death wish?  
  
I stood there for god knows how long waiting for any sign consciousness, but he was too far into his twisted trance to even seem alive. This was fucking ridiculous.  
  
I repeated myself again this time I quit the comical feat. “Jerome!” I spat.  
  
A little bit of me jumped as his smile quickly dropped. Tightly he shut his eyes and opened them again as if he needed to restart himself just to talk to me. He darted his green eyes up to my blue ones. His sinister smile reunited with his lips as he saw my pissed off face.  
  
“Well hiya honeypot, _beautiful_ night isn’t it?”  
  
His smile didn’t sway as he spoke and it certainly didn’t as my bewildered face grew more and more furious. He rose his glass slowly and took a long sip finishing with an exaggerated sigh.  
  
“You know I have to say, I do love my women when they look as though they’re about to kill me.” Immediately I snatched his drink from his hand and bashed it down on the table surface almost making the glass shatter. “Wow, sweetheart you should never take it out on the desk. This right here is pure—”  
  
I could tell Jerome was just about to knock on the desks wooden surface, yet was caught a little surprised once I yelled, “The fuck was that?!”  
  
His smile still painted on as wide as ever. Still playing up the whole Italian mobster persona. “Pardon your French, Babs.”  
  
I genuinely pointed my finger to him as though I was a teacher lecturing some little shit. “Don’t you ever call me that again Je—”  
  
“Honeypot it is then,” the ginger swiftly interrupted.  
  
I rubbed my forehead in irritation and breathed heavily, feeling the need to pull my own skin off my face. “How long have you just been phased out like that? What sort of wet dream were you even having?”  
  
Jerome’s chin fell leaving his face in an over-the-top gasping expression as he mocked a human who would actually give a shit. “How dare you?” He spun around to the desk and grabbed an already organised flock of papers and began straightening their sides on the table like he was a news reporter. “You know I have been here all night trying to organise all these bills to keep a roof over your head and I still get no respect in this house.”  
  
I snatched the pages out of his hands and flipped through them with an amused pout. Leaning my side on the desk, I scoffed, “Jerome, these are just crappy drawings of you cutting people’s faces open.” Smirking, I held up an uncomfortably detailed sketch of Jerome shoving an overly accessorised lady’s hand in a blender.  
  
Ripping the page from my hand, he replied: “What can I say?” I turned to see the boy glowered at the scrap of paper with a clenched jaw. His smile had completely vanished. “The currency in Gotham is getting rather shitty.”  
  
Holy shit! Did I just piss off Jerome? Surprisingly easy. I laughed a little at the way his pale ears burned into a crimson heat. Glancing at the papers I saw the same woman again this time in a heap of her own blood with a cobra twisted around her body. Deciding I didn’t want to know any more of whatever sick history that lied behind it I placed the papers to the side of the desk.  
  
Jerome was still fixated on the image, and once again in total oblivion of my presence. You know for a teenage boy who has just been essentially woken by a woman in lingerie he sure didn’t seem too interested. I thought that maybe he just didn’t find pleasure in the company of ladies such as myself. I mean it does explain the theatrics and perhaps that’s why he follows Theo around like a puppy all day long.  
  
It is an interesting theory, but I wasn’t here to just wonder. Lifting myself up I took my seat on top of the table. Desperately trying to ignore me his furrowed his eyes and rose the paper to hide me from sight. What you can’t see can’t hurt you.  
  
He’s so confusing. One minute all he can do is lick his lips and call me pet names and the next he wants me to fuck off. Well, I’m not playing this stupid game anymore. If I know one thing, it’s how to make a man beg for it.  
  
I placed my bare foot in his lap and delicately started caressing his thigh. As my foot rose higher and higher I eventually got him to put down the paper. He looked up me with dead eyes but still, he couldn’t hide the opaqueness of his dilated pupils. Leaning back, he finally took admiration of my nighty that barely touched my thighs. Not knowing what to do he just watched me bite my lip as I slowly discovered his hardness. Okay so maybe he wasn’t gay.  
  
“Isn’t it far past your bedtime young man,” I teased. He didn’t say anything he just glared at me, his eyes washed with both rage and pleasure. I didn’t want him to get too excited, though.  
  
Removing my foot from his crotch, I smiled as I heard him pathetically moan. I lowered myself onto his lap, placing a knee either side of him. He watched me curiously without a flinch. Loving the way his eyes cursed me, I placed my forehead against his and clasped on a handful of red hair jerking him further back in his chair. He seemed to like that.  
  
His silence was kind of unnerving. I expected at least a witty quip or a sweetly charming laugh. But nothing. Not to lie I began to miss that freshly broken voice of his.  
  
I held him like that for a while letting our breath clash against one another as I admired his boyish face. God, he was so beautiful. I’ve never called any other guy beautiful before, but Jerome was not like any other guy. He was just so stunning. So perfect.  
  
Leaning my head to the side I slowly I placed my lips upon his own. He didn’t move, but I could tell he liked it. Grabbing his hands, I placed them both on the back of my thighs, “Oh come on carrot top, I know you want to play.”  
  
Just before I was going to lean back in to try again. His soft words warmed my lips. “What are you doing honeypot?” he asked with a subtle rasp to his tone.  
  
Well, take a fucking guess, _Sherlock_. I knew I had to play nice, though. Leaning close to his ear, I whispered, “The fuck does it look like?”  
  
Seeing my eyes roll made his forever haunting smile grow again on his lips. “A birthday party,” he answered in his cute little voice. Running his hands up my thighs, he let one hand cup my cheek and the other trail up and down the line of my back. Closing my eyes, I let the sensation of his coarse hands’ soft touch run through me. An unexpected warmth overtook my mouth as he seized my lips. He was one surprisingly great kisser. _Rough yet romantic._  
  
Once he released my tongue he laughed at the shock on my face. “Is this why you came down?”  
  
I nodded with a bite of my lip. “Much better than I was expecting.”  
  
I moaned as his thumb pulled my bottom lip away from my teeth’s grip and then softly rubbed it dry. His other hand playfully swung my hem. “Ya know I live to impress gorgeous,” he snarled.  
  
Rubbing myself on his hardness made Jerome throw his head against the head of his chair and laugh darkly, loosening a copper wire of his hair to drift over his pale forehead.  
  
_Still_ not enough. I wanted to draw out all his patience. All his confidence. All that made me fear him. His assertive nature may be charming but his weakness would be even better. “I won’t lie to you handsome.” I ran my nails through his scalp until he purred and then continued on to say, “I’ve been getting some certain vibes.”  
  
“Cool, you’re a psychic,” Jerome smartly stepped in. “Can you read my fortune? Is it sick? _Oh goodie!_ Do I become the leader of the world? How will I die? Is my face still pre—”  
  
“Sweetie, you’re very cute but please shut up,” I interrupted in the politest voice I’ve used for quite a while now. Jerome nodded sharply with his smile still reaching his ears but his teeth were veiled. Tilting his head to the side he placed an elbow on the chair’s arm and placed his fist under his chin. He was so cute! I giggled and combed his loose strand back into the fire pit placed on top his head. “I just kind of suspected you had a thing for… mature ladies.”  
  
“Well, I didn’t know you were a librarian because you doll can read me like a book.” He took his glass from the table and took an emptied the rest down his throat. Not caring for the red wine drop that lingered on his chin.  
  
“Jerome,” I said sweetly giving him a patronising smile and placing a hand on his shoulder. “That was terrible.”  
  
“Well, doll you only paid for the bronze Jerome package. Which includes free Wi-Fi, a variety of shit jokes, and the complimentary fucking your life.” He snarled, eyes down the cleavage of my dress. “You could always upgrade, but it’ll be quite a high payment.”  
  
Rolling my eyes, I wiped off the spot of red wine and then licked it off my thumb. “So I was right then you do have a thing for the older ladies.”  
  
Tapping his temple he explained, “Mummy issues darling. Bitch sure did fuck me up.” His smile may not have wavered but mine did. Making me jump, he banged his glass back on the table just as I had. His voice turned raspy again: “Sorry honeypot. Didn’t mean to frighten ya.”  
  
I sickly feeling suddenly overtook me. There was no more desire. No more romance. Just fear. I leant back in his lap, accidentally making him spill out a groan as I brushed his groin again. "So, that's what you were doing in Arkham."  
  
Seeing my discomfort made Jerome throw another dark laugh in my face. “Come on Babs. I told you that the first time I talked to you.” He freed me from his grip and crossed his arms pretending as though we were an old married couple. “I guess you weren’t paying attention to me. _Like always_.”  
  
I lifted myself off his lap without taking note of having kicked him in the stomach while doing so. “Ouch, that hurt. Well now were really playing up the mummy issues game.” He grabbed my ankle and shook it while scratching his chin acting like the strange object was one he’d never seen. With a sharp kick, I escaped from his fiendish grip.  
  
Jumping up in his chair he looked at me in confusion and anger. “The fuck are you going?!” He growled. He tried to clasp at the back of my dress but the soft material just slipped from his clasp. “Wait don’t leave.”  
  
“Fuck off, Jerome,” I said as I paced to the door.  
  
“Barbara!” he cried with neither anger nor humour just woeful urgency. I think that’s the first time he ever actually said my name. Stopping in the doorway I turned to the boy. A lump of his sleeked back hair was now tangled on his forehead. The crimson of his nose and ears amongst his moon toned complexion left a rather intriguing contrast.  
  
His cold green eyes lay on my even colder blue ones without a blink. His breathing was shaky. I could tell he was trying to stop himself from breaking down. We stood in silence. He looked so sad. I didn’t know he could be sad. But once the smile or grimace had faded all that was left was a boy. A boy with the saddest eyes in the world. “Please,” his voice was croaked as the look of desperation grew more and more in his eyes. “Can you just stay with me? We can watch a movie.”  
  
I stayed silent not knowing what to do. I’ve never seen him act like this before. I’ve never seen anyone act like this before. Not in my whole life have I seen anyone so helpless.  
  
I wanted to stay with him. But I couldn’t. Jerome was like a bird with only one lonely feather left hanging on his wing. I can’t help him grow his feathers back. I knew that if I tried it would only let his last feather come loose.  
  
He looked so vulnerable. This wasn’t safe for him. The reality was too dangerous for Jerome. He knew that. Letting real emotions even touch him would make him realise who he was. What happened to him. Who he’s missing. Realization is the cruellest gift for you to ever give to someone like him.  
  
“You know Theo has a cinema room. He’s got a whole lot of CDs too. I looked through them and I thought of a few you might want to watch with me. I found Psycho.” He nervously ranted into the silent room. “I’ve never watched a film with anyone else before.”  
  
“Go to bed Jerome,” I told the shattered child before walking away. Far away from the mess, I’d made.  
  
Jerome stood there for ages. He didn’t want to turn his back in case I returned. Eventually, after he’d come to his senses he slumped back in his chair. Disappointed after remembering his glass was empty he grabbed his drawings that had been nastily thrown on his desk and tossed them all into the fireplace. He grabbed a metal rod to make sure for every inch of paper had been completely demolished.  
  
A glimpse of his mother’s unflatteringly drawn face appeared in the fire and then disappeared through the smoke and flames. Jerome snorted at the image. “Damn that would have been so much cooler. _Sorry Mother dearest, but for the first time let’s have a Sunday roast._ Shit, my jokes are terrible.”  
  
He sat there for the rest of the night grinning into the fire as he imagined his mother’s body all charred and crispy. His mouth identical to before, his eyes far from similarity.

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fan fiction, so please leave a comment telling me what you thought.


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